Carmanian Nights
by Kizzykat
Summary: Alexander and Hephaestion celebrate being alive after the Gedrosian desert. A Happy and Holy Easter to you.


**Carmanian Nights by Kizzykat**

_There are historical inaccuracies here. Sorry this is so long, but it will effectively split into chapters if you don't want to read it all in one go._

I

They had finally arrived in the capital city of Carmania, back in civilization after months of roughing it. There was an enormous sense of relief and celebration throughout the army, and the Persians welcomed them like men back from the dead.

Maybe it was nervousness at having an army in no mood to give quarter outside their gates when they may have thought Alexander was dead, but even the governor came out to greet them on the road, literally, with open arms. He offered them whatever they wanted, they had known of Alexander's coming and brought in supplies from all over the province.

That night there had been a great feast for them in the hall with the carven and gilded pillars and the blue wall tiles – not as grand as those in Babylon, but still impressive to boys from Pella. Their hosts had laid on roast boar and honey-glazed fruits, pheasants marinated in wine, apple dumplings spiced with cloves, quail eggs in aspic and white wine chilled in deep wells. They had even found some Greek-style dining couches.

The army too was not forgotten with whole roast oxen, mountains of the finest freshly baked bread to soak up their grease and gravy, fried onions, spiced sausages, pickled eggs, cinnamon and raisin cakes, apples baked in honey, and copious amounts of wine.

Before the banquet, they had soaked the desert dust from the cracks in their dried skin in baths of hot, rose-scented water, and groaned with pleasure as the prettiest bath boys kneaded warm oil into their strained muscles. The boys flashed them smiles of their dark eyes and white teeth as they combed their damp hair and dressed them in the luxury of clean linen and the finest silks.

"I had forgotten how good clean clothes felt," Hephaestion said with a smile, working his hand free of a sky-blue silk robe.

"And what bliss it is to have a bath. And to actually have clean fingernails," Alexander replied, a sensuous glow warming him as he realised how good Hephaestion looked, surrounded by torchlight refracted from the brass sconces.

He might have hoped for a more romantic end to the evening, but the food and wine were so good, they were all tired, and everyone was so mellow and companionable, that they had spent the evening and long into the night talking with their friends, all glad to be alive, enjoying the company, the time to take it easy and the prospect of an end to their long journey. Full of food and wine and friendship, they fell asleep in feather beds and slept like the dead until morning.

There was work to be done then over the next few days; the army to re-provision, weapons and wagons to be mended, armour and discipline to be repaired, stores to be gathered, sorted and packed for when they moved on.

On their fifth night, their hosts laid on another sumptuous banquet. It was a night for getting drunk and living life to the full. There were dancers, acrobats and jugglers, snake charmers, and even a man who ate fire. They drank, and roared their approval. Alexander got very excited and wanted to try eating fire. Hephaestion pulled him back down onto his couch and sat on him, Ptolemy helping him.

Laughing, Alexander fought them off, and needed another drink to cool down.

"Hephaestion! Hephaestion!" yelled Seleucus from the other side of the room as Hephaestion rose from Alexander's couch. "Come over here and explain to this horse's ass Lysimachus why he's marrying a Persian! He thinks all Persian noblewomen have goat's hooves instead of feet!"

"I do not!" burly Lysimachus protested, "but I'm not marrying one unless I see her feet first!"

"Ask Alexander!" Hephaestion yelled back over the gales of laughter as he reclined on his own couch. "It's his idea!"

"I'm too drunk to remember why!" Alexander yelled to the ceiling, lying on his back on his couch. "Ask Hephaestion, his memory's better than mine!"

"Isn't it enough," Perdiccas called to them across the room, "that Alexander wants you to?"

"I'm the King and I want you to," Alexander intoned mockingly in a deep voice, waving his goblet around.

"I want Hephaestion to explain it to me," Seleucus called.

"Hephaestion, come here!" Lysimachus added. "I want some beautiful, intelligent company, not this ugly toad Seleucus!" He attempted to push Seleucus off his couch.

"The dancing girls will be out in a moment!" Hephaestion called back.

"Women aren't for talking to! They're for bedding! Get over here, and let me feast my eyes on you!"

"Yey! Hephaestion!" Seleucus called, clapping his hands. "Give us a twirl in that white thing you're wearing! I've wanted to see it floating all evening!"

There were encouraging cheers from all round the room. Hephaestion, though he was not quite sure why he had become the centre of attention, had drunk enough to lose his inhibitions and, rosy-cheeked, he climbed down from his couch. Alexander rolled over to watch him, then sat up to get a better view.

Hephaestion was wearing a long, loose, open-chested robe of pure white silk and white Persian pantaloons. A wreath of silver leaves lay on his hair, a gold medallion rested on his smooth chest and, spreading his arms, he stepped into the centre of the room in jewel encrusted slippers, the robe lifting behind him, air filling it like a cloud.

Gracefully, he turned to face Alexander, the robe fluttering. With a warm smile at Alexander, he sank down on one knee. He settled on his heel, bowing his dark head to his upraised knee in a form of proskynesis, the white silk settling around him like swan's wings.

Alexander stared at him in amazement, gratification and pleasure suffusing his face. His lips parted to speak as Hephaestion looked up at him with a dazzling smile, his blue eyes sparkling at having surprised Alexander.

Alexander opened his arms to welcome Hephaestion into them, but at that moment the dancing girls, not seeing the crouching Hephaestion, erupted onto the dance floor, sweeping around him in two wide arcs. As the pipes and drums struck up, Hephaestion rose quickly to his feet, the slender girls circling around him in dance, the silver bells on their wrists and ankles chiming. Noisy applause, either for Hephaestion or the dancing girls, drowned out anything Alexander may have been about to say.

Hephaestion watched with a smile as the girls twirled around him, their hair and the coloured ribbons streaming from their waists and wrists making vivid patterns of colour about him.

Seleucus suddenly dashed between the girls, caught Hephaestion's wrist and dragged him playfully to his and Lysimachus' couches.

Alexander half-rose in his green, gold-trimmed robes to protest, but Ptolemy reached and laid a restraining hand on his arm, his eyebrows raised in merriment.

"Do you want to hear something that happened today?" he asked, smilingly. "You can decide whether you want to tell Hephaestion later." Alexander sank back with a curious smile.

On his side of the room, Hephaestion sat on the edge of Lysimachus's couch and fended idiotic questions from skinny Seleucus, who was really quite drunk, about whether Persian women had webbed toes, about what they were like in bed, and whether Alexander was really going to heap them all with gold and treasure for taking Persian wives. Hephaestion gave him the answers he deserved, keeping half an eye on Alexander, who was laughing heartily at whatever Ptolemy was telling him. Perdiccas and the others around were getting quite animated too.

Lysimachus, also drunk, had slipped his arm around Hephaestion's ribs and was trying to coax him into lying back against him. Hephaestion decided to give him what he wanted and lay back as he answered Seleucus, who wanted to know what bride he was getting and who her family were. Hephaestion was not in the least bothered that his elbow was digging into the soft flesh under Lysimachus' ribs and the back of his head was in Lysimachus' face.

Lysimachus' hand slipped a little lower down Hephaestion's body, and Hephaestion leant back a little heavier on his elbow. Lysimachus groaned and stirred, getting a face full of Hephaestion's hair. He was forced to move his hand to push it out of his face.

"Oh, sorry," Hephaestion said innocently, turning his head to look at Lysimachus with a bright smile and twisting his elbow a little deeper.

"Get off!" Lysimachus grunted, shoving at his shoulder. Hephaestion chuckled and moved, looking over at the noise from Alexander's side of the room.

Alexander was laughing so hard at Ptolemy's tale that he had fallen off his couch. Red-faced with surprise and breathlessness, he sat on the floor, laughing at his own mishap as Perdiccas and Ptolemy reached to help him up.

Hephaestion abandoned Lysimachus and Seleucus, and was promptly accosted by one of the dancing girls. They had finished their dance and were circulating around the room, offering company for those who wanted it. Lysimachus and Seleucus snagged a laughing pair onto their couches and the dark-eyed girl before Hephaestion smiled up at him – a warm and deeply sensuous smile, practised to disguise everything about her except the allurements of her body as she raised her beribboned fingers towards Hephaestion's clothes.

"Hephaestion!" Alexander's voice rang out across the hall as he stood on his couch like an imperious child. "I need you right now for something very important."

With a huge smile, Hephaestion inclined his head to the girl and made his way across the hall to stand before Alexander's couch, looking up at him with his hands on his hips.

"I'm suppose to give you a kiss," Alexander declared.

"Why?" Hephaestion asked with slow smile.

"Because you bowed down to me, I'm supposed to give you a kiss in return."

"Who says?" Hephaestion laughed, and then became aware that they were being listened to intently by the whole room. Feeling uncomfortable, he raised his chin in defiance, staring wide-eyed up at Alexander.

"Persian etiquette," Alexander declared, a subtle change of strength entering his voice. The torchlight caught the gold of the wreath he was wearing like a corona of sunlight behind a raincloud. "By offering your obedience to me, I, as the Great King, can accept you as my kinsman, making our relationship one of mutual respect with a kiss."

"Go on!" Lysimachus called from the other side of the room. "Kiss him!"

"Before someone else does!" Seleucus added.

Hephaestion looked up at Alexander with a wry smile. Alexander looked down at him with fire in his eyes. His face had taken on the look of possession when he was taken out of himself by the touch of a god. The room fell silent as they recognised the divine presence growing in the King.

"Come here," he said softly.

The god walking sombrely through his eyes, Hephaestion stepped nearer, gazing up at Alexander.

Alexander bent down and, placing his bent forefinger beneath Hephaestion's chin, raised his face and placed a firm yet gentle kiss on his lips, the cool touch of fingertips in the night enjoining silence.

"You alone understand," he said with the clarity of a clear bell in the silence of the room. "You alone embody East and West as a symbol of peace. You are precious in the eyes of heaven because of your gift of understanding. You are precious in my eyes because you make others understand that war is only a means to peace." He straightened, his eyes ranged briefly around the room with the beginnings of a smile. "Alexander, however, straddles East and West like a colossus. A mighty conqueror," he said with a wide smile, the mood in the room lightening. "Which is why," he cried, jumping down from the couch, "I deserve a real kiss from my best friend."

Hephaestion laughed as Alexander caught hold of him in a passionate, intoxicated kiss to the cheers which began with Lysimachus and Seleucus and flowed around the room. They collapsed onto Alexander's couch, breathless and grinning as they broke apart, suddenly very anxious to duck below the parapet of everyone's attention.

Mercifully, Ptolemy called out to the dancers' musicians, "Give us some music!"

As the musicians struck up, a couple of the unattached girls shimmied out into the centre of the room and began undulating their flesh provocatively. In a tangle of garments, Alexander and Hephaestion sorted themselves out, lying close against each other as they watched the girls. Alexander took a drink of wine and passed his goblet over his shoulder to Hephaestion to share.

Serious drinking and more carnal pursuits began around the room and, when he thought no one was watching any longer, Hephaestion slipped away. Alexander sat sipping his wine and watching the room with hot eyes for a while. He knew Ptolemy, at least, was watching him. He drained his goblet, handed it to Ptolemy across the gap between their couches with a smile and said, "I'm for bed."

Ptolemy grinned at him as he took the goblet, raising it in farewell.

II

Exhausted, the blood flowing warm and sweetly through his veins now that his heart had ceased thundering, Alexander slid his hand across the tender hollow below Hephaestion's ribs and let his breath out in a contented sigh. He felt Hephaestion breath in deeply and he smiled.

"Amazing," he whispered. "That was the best sex of my entire life."

He felt Hephaestion's smile spreading throughout his whole body.

In theory, Alexander had been dominant, but Hephaestion had been in complete control. With a tightening of his muscles, a lift of his hips, and a downward thrust of his pelvis, he had reduced Alexander to butter beneath him, again and again until he had groaned in submission.

Now Hephaestion lay on his back with his knee raised, naked on the white silk sheets. Alexander moved his hand to rest on Hephaestion's thigh, running it caressingly around Hephaestion's long, shapely leg, pressing the softer skin on the inside.

He slid himself further down the bed beside Hephaestion and placed a kiss on his thigh. Suddenly, he had a fit of the giggles.

"What?" Hephaestion asked in consternation, raising his head and trying to see what Alexander was laughing at.

Alexander, his shoulders shaking with merriment, buried his head against Hephaestion's thigh. He wrapped his arm around Hephaestion's upraised leg and turned his cheek to rest against the firm muscle. He grinned at his lover, a King's lover.

"Apparently," he said, his eyes dancing like dust devils in the sand as he gazed at Hephaestion, "there is a story going around that the only thing that can defeat Alexander are Hephaestion's thighs."

Hephaestion caught his breath in a moment of shock, his blue eyes round, ringed with long dark lashes, his hair spread around him on the pillow. "Who told you that?"

"Ptolemy," Alexander said, grinning with delight. "Perdiccas was horrified and tried to shush him, thinking I'd be offended. But Ptolemy said that he was encouraging his troops, who were moaning about doing drill. He told them that they were the greatest army the world had ever seen, and that was because they had Alexander as their king. Nothing, he said, had ever defeated Alexander, not even a desert." Alexander caught his breath with a hiccupping giggle. "Then some wag in the back piped up and said that only Hephaestion's thighs had ever defeated Alexander."

Hephaestion stiffened in affront, yet watched wide-eyed as Alexander gave way to giggles again. Hephaestion was not entirely sure that this was funny.

"Ptolemy said there was pandemonium," Alexander continued breathlessly. "The men had hysterics, and it took the sergeants ages to get them to start drilling again. And when they did, discipline was shot and they were all over the place. He gave up in the end and sent them all off on a three mile run." He smiled at Hephaestion with satisfaction.

"Don't you mind?"

"Why should I? It's good for morale, and the story has flown like wildfire around the camp. You can feel the whole army's mood has lifted. And your thighs are very beautiful thighs," he said. He laid the side of his head coyly against Hephaestion's knee, smiling winningly as he rubbed his hand against the long bone of Hephaestion's thigh.

"Don't," Hephaestion said, scowling to disguise the fact that he had gone very pink. "You're still drunk."

"I am," Alexander said proudly, raising his head. Even Hephaestion's scowl deepened his beauty as he lay against the white cushion, his eyes downcast. Alexander watched as, with his arms resting against his ribs, Hephaestion began plucking anxiously with his fingernails at the skin around his left thumbnail.

"Don't be offended," Alexander asked, his voice softening.

"I'm not," Hephaestion replied, raising his bright eyes earnestly to Alexander, "but don't you mind that people think I dominate you?"

"No," Alexander said, a laugh of perverse enjoyment in his voice.

Hephaestion frowned in exasperation. "You do know," he said, "that thighs are a euphemism for what lies between my legs?"

"I don't mind if people think you lead me round by the nose."

"By the balls, more like," Hephaestion muttered, his eyes darkening as he held Alexander's eyes. He dropped his gaze again, concentrating on the shred of skin he had loosened beside his thumbnail.

"It means they think I run around after you with my tongue hanging out," Alexander said softly, reaching with his hand to cover Hephaestion's fingers and still their self-destructive movements. "Which is true."

"It's embarrassing."

Alexander watched his downcast face, which managed to look very young despite all Hephaestion had seen and done and known in over thirty years of life, and he forbore from smiling too broadly. Hephaestion had very pure ideals, but he wasn't always able to ignore the smell of the gutter. He moved up closer beside Hephaestion.

"Why are you upset?"

Hephaestion's lips moved with unspoken thoughts. He still did not look up at Alexander. "You were laughing at me."

"I was not!" Alexander protested joyously. "I was laughing at myself. And at why people should be so fascinated about what we do in private."

Hephaestion did not react. It was obvious he had something else on his mind.

"Incidentally," Alexander said to distract him, circling his forefinger lightly on the skin of Hephaestion's still slightly damp chest. "Where exactly did you learn to do that? Or was it pure invention?" He pressed his lips close to Hephaestion's ear, and whispered. "My eyes were standing out on stalks."

Hephaestion looked up at him quickly, hot-eyed. "It's called milking," he said. "Women do it. Apparently." He had gone a very deep red, the colour spreading down his chest. Suddenly, he rolled away from Alexander and got off the bed.

Alexander chuckled. "I'm going to try it on you tomorrow night."

Turning round to face him, Hephaestion said, "You are not. I'm going to get you so drunk tomorrow, you won't even remember tonight." He came and sat back on the edge of the bed and looked at Alexander with his startlingly blue eyes.

"Perhaps, Alexander," he said quietly, "we're getting too old for this. Perhaps we shouldn't do it anymore."

Alexander, reclining on his elbow, felt as if he had just been punched in the heart. He paused. "Are you telling me," he asked slowly, "that you didn't enjoy it?"

Hephaestion looked at him, clearly torn in different directions, but not prepared to give way. "No," he said, in a low voice.

Alexander felt a great hole gaping beneath him. "Did you do it just to please me?"

"No, I did not. But we're not boys anymore, Alexander. We should have outgrown doing this by now."

"Who says?" Alexander demanded.

"I do. I do not want to expose you to ridicule and censure." Hephaestion's eyes pleaded with him to understand.

Angrily, Alexander flung himself off the bed. "I'm the King and I can do what I want!"

"Alexander, that's the wine talking, and you know it."

Alexander spun about. "I can make my own rules!" he said desperately. He came back quickly to the bed and crouched on it. "Hephaestion, don't do this to me. I know it's been on your mind for a while now, but if we're discreet, what does it matter?"

"People will still know," Hephaestion said, his eyes dimming with regret.

"But, please. The thought of not being able to hold you again, of never being able to touch your body again."

Tears pooled in Hephaestion's eyes. "It's the same for me," he whispered. "I need you. I need you more than I can say. But if we can't rule our own passions, how can we, you, rule others with integrity?"

Instinctively, they moved as one and embraced, arms wrapped about ribs and shoulders, sinew and muscle moulded against bone.

"Why did I fall in love with a philosopher?" Alexander mumbled against Hephaestion's shoulder.

"Because you're one yourself," Hephaestion said against the heat of Alexander's neck.

"I forget."

"Don't drink so much then. And stop listening to flatterers like Perdiccas. He's getting dreadful at it."

Alexander smiled hopefully against Hephaestion's warm skin. "So it's to be stolen moments from now on?"

"It's your reputation I'm thinking of. And mine. How are we to gain respect as statesmen if we behave like wanton boys instead of married men?"

With a moan, Alexander said, "I don't want to grow old and become like my father."

His lips against Alexander's hair, Hephaestion chuckled softly. "There's no danger of that."

"Then since the damage has been done and the whole world knows you're in my bed tonight, you'd better let me make the most of it," Alexander muttered defiantly. He tossed his head back to look at Hephaestion.

An answering mischief kindled in Hephaestion's eyes and lips as he tipped his head back to expose his long neck in submission to Alexander. Alexander set his teeth and tongue lightly against the thin skin of Hephaestion's throat as he pushed him down against the white silk sheets.

III

The following day, Craterus and his army, the foreign troops, engineers, non-combatants, womenfolk and the baggage train came in. That night, Alexander feasted with his reunited army. He had spent the whole day ceaselessly touring the camp, lending a hand to lift a wagon that wanted a new wheel, helping to pitch one of the incomers' tents, feeling the balance of a soldier's new sword, examining the fetlock of a lame horse, ruffling a ragamuffin child's hair as he passed by, listening to the men's gripes and moans, lifting their spirits, and generally making his presence felt. He ate his supper by a huge campfire, Craterus sitting on a log beside him, joining in the men's songs and jokes, listening to all Craterus and his men had been doing in the months since they had been apart.

Perforce, Hephaestion and the other senior officers had accompanied Alexander on his tour of inspection, proudly showing off their own men and then getting diverted onto other concerns before catching up with Alexander. Hephaestion took a tour down his cavalry's horse lines after Alexander had moved on, checking on the welfare of the mounts, trailed by his own aides and sergeants anxious for his approval. Truth to tell, he was a little tired of Craterus monopolising the conversation and Alexander lapping it up, and he needed a breather before he rejoined them.

And, quite frankly, he was still a little dizzy and light-headed from last night. He needed a space away from the pressure of Alexander's presence to clear his head.

Later, he was sidetracked by the engineers, who wanted to show him the maps they had made while following Craterus's route. They wanted to show him their plans for extending the royal roads throughout the empire too, and Hephaestion lost himself until the day began to grow dark in plans and models.

When he could no longer see the maps clearly, he went in search of Alexander, whom he found sitting on a log in the firelight from a huge campfire, surrounded by an enormous crowd of men, officers and soldiers mingled.

Alexander gave no indication that he had noticed Hephaestion's arrival, who took up a place in the circle behind him, Perdiccas making a space for him. Hephaestion stayed out of Alexander's line of sight so as not to distract him from Craterus. It would have been a slight to Craterus for Hephaestion to have stayed away, even though they were not the best of friends. Craterus was one of those who felt that Alexander and Hephaestion should have outgrown their boyhood intimacy by the age of thirty. Friendship and brotherhood were all well and good, but not lovers. Hephaestion did not intend making an issue of either his presence or his absence tonight.

Someone passed him a bowl of stew with a wooden spoon and a chunk of bread. It was tasty and he hadn't eaten since breakfast with Alexander so he polished it off. Soon the wine began to flow, and with it the jokes, the wild stories and the songs. Men began taking it easy, sitting down in the circle of firelight, drinking, talking, while on the edges of the darkness, the common soldiers stood about, rank upon rank of them, the light reflecting on their faces, listening and drinking in the company of the great and the mighty, and watching the show.

Alexander was in his element, in the company of friends and equals, laughing and talking, the only difference between him and the others being that everyone paid attention when he spoke. Yet it was not just because he was the King, it was because he loved being the centre of attention, he loved making people like him, he cared about them like everyone was his friend and brother. He was a star, a star among many, the only difference being that, like the North Star, he was the star around which all the rest revolved. Hephaestion watched him with love in his heart; and knew he was not the only one.

The Pages caught up with Alexander and began offering camp stools to Alexander's friends and senior officers, doubtless at Chares' instigation. Ordinarily, Alexander would have been irritated at such fussy comforts, but as no one interrupted him with the offer of a stool, he ignored it.

Hephaestion accepted one because it was less trouble than refusing it, and without really intending to, he found himself sitting behind Alexander's shoulder. It felt right, it felt comfortable and he relaxed. Alexander, without even looking round, without acknowledging his presence, leant back, resting his forearm on Hephaestion's knee as he reclined on his log, crossing his ankles as he stretched out his legs before him.

Hephaestion's heart swelled with contentment. Everything, all the men around him on the verge of showing off with drink in their blood, receded into the noisy distance. This was all that mattered, this unspoken trust and intimacy with Alexander. His Alexander.

He looked up, his eyes sparkling with pride; and caught the cold-eyed glance Craterus gave him.

Hephaestion stared back at him. He was aware he was probably purring like a cat that had got the cream, but he smiled; gently, simply because he was happy, and Alexander was happy.

Craterus was a good man and he mellowed, responding with a lop-sided smile. Peace was made, and then he turned away, calling good-humouredly to someone who had been telling a tall tale that he was a lying braggart.

The evening went on long into the night until everyone, tired and well-worn with laughter and friendship staggered off to their beds.

IV

The following night, Alexander dutifully paid a visit to Roxanne. He had given her a day to rest after travelling, hoping that she would be well-prepared to receive him.

Hephaestion avoided him the following day, knowing he would be in a foul temper after visiting Roxanne. It was not that she angered or distressed him, but that she stirred him, disturbed him in a way he could not define, and that angered him because he felt frustrated that he could not satisfy the feelings she roused in him. Secretly, Hephaestion thought that she reminded Alexander of his mother, but he would never dare say it.

Like Olympias, she was never satisfied. She never let things go, and she always had to have the last word, even in her broken Greek. Even if she wasn't arguing with you, she gave you the feeling she was, and that if you didn't give way to her, she would argue with you. Exactly what she wanted was never clear to Hephaestion, unless it was the thrill, the drama of an argument itself.

Hephaestion avoided talking to her, but Alexander was clearly drawn to her. Perhaps it was the challenge of trying to best her. Perhaps she was good in bed. Hephaestion preferred not to think about it.

Late that evening, Alexander missed Hephaestion's company. He had taken Roxanne a present of a gold necklace to try and mend the peace between them. She had complained incessantly about Craterus, insisting upon detailing every imagined slight and neglect, and when he had defended Craterus, she had turned her wrath upon him and accused him of deserting her, of no longer wanting her. She was a strong woman: why could she not have gone through Gedrosia with him?

Alexander shut her up with a kiss; which he suspected she was waiting for all along. She responded lustily, and he settled down to the business of why he had come. Yet his heart was not satisfied. He woke with thoughts he could not identify, and she was angered that he would not spend the day with her.

He took her the necklace to pacify her, and because he hadn't enjoyed feeling out of sorts all day. She surprised him, as always, by being full of sweetness and light, delighted with his gift. He stayed to dine with her, but he did not stay any longer. She was clearly disappointed as he kissed her cheek goodbye, but he was not in the mood for sex. All he wanted was to talk to Hephaestion for a few minutes.

He knew Hephaestion was right and that they would have to learn to be discreet if they were not to incur censure and disapproval. More Greeks would be coming out to join them as they returned to the heartland of Persia to help run the Empire, and they would bring with them Greek culture and morals. They would not understand the mores of campaign life, and might well regard their behaviour as degenerate and uncivilised. Alexander could not afford to lose their respect. If he was to become more than just a conquering hero, if he were to become a Great King, then he had to be beyond reproach.

Without a thought, Alexander charged through Hephaestion's rooms and into his bedroom. He was in the middle of the room before he realised that that Hephaestion was not alone, and that he might not want to be disturbed.

Hephaestion was standing, semi-naked with a sheet twisted about his hips, between his bed and the bathtub. A slight, half-naked figure was pressed close against his bare chest. The slender back curving to a small waist and hips draped with a bath sheet was definitely female. Hephaestion's was holding her naked shoulders.

Startled, she half-turned to stare at Alexander, the sheet clutched over her breasts, a long plait of light brown hair hanging over one shoulder. Hephaestion stared wide-eyed over her head at Alexander.

Without focusing on anything, Alexander burnt every detail onto his unblinking eyes. He sought the one true point: Hephaestion's pained, guilt-tinged eyes of blue. "Forgive me," Alexander whispered to him, turned and fled.

"No!" Hephaestion pleaded, stepping forward with outstretched hand as Alexander turned away. He stumbled on the trailing sheet as Alexander shut the door quickly behind him, leaving Hephaestion facing the unyielding wood.

V

Alexander stood staring at nothing in his bedroom, one arm clasped tightly about his ribs, the other elbow pressed against it as he tore at his thumbnail with his teeth. He had no idea what to think. Hephaestion had had other lovers before: but not when he was around. Hephaestion had no eyes for anyone else: he knew he didn't. But he would also never have casual sex with just anyone: his heart wasn't made that way. He cared too deeply.

There was a quiet knock at the door and Hephaestion came in. Fully dressed, he walked silently to Alexander's side and stood there, watching Alexander. Alexander glanced at him briefly, silent too. They felt each other's presence as their breathing meshed, the pain, the confusion, the uncertainty: Alexander determined not to be jealous, not to be angry; Hephaestion determined not to apologise.

"Sorry," he whispered, bending forward, feeling the warmth from Alexander's body.

"Don't you dare apologise!" Alexander said, his head coming up quickly, causing Hephaestion to rear back. "Don't you dare! You have every right! Every right!" He broke away and began to pace. His biggest fear was that Hephaestion had done it because he had gone to Roxanne last night. But she was his wife. He had a duty to her.

"Who is she?" he demanded, harsher than he intended.

"No one."

"She must be someone. Is she a courtesan?" Alexander felt hollow with the enormous gulf between them; and it was his fault.

"No."

"You don't sleep with strangers. You must know her." It was an accusation.

"Leave her alone, Alexander."

Alexander stared at him, his eyes alight. He was ready to fight, and Hephaestion stared back at him: he was not prepared to back down. Not in this. Alexander could rant and rave all he liked at him. But he would not touch her. She did not deserve that. Not when all she had been was kind to a lonely man.

"Be angry at me," he said tightly.

"I'm not angry!" Alexander cried painfully. "I'm just… Confused. Why didn't you tell me?"

Hephaestion looked uncertain. He seemed more like himself than the stranger he had been a moment ago. "She was with Craterus's army. I haven't seen her since India."

Alexander stared at him, wavering. Things had not always been right between them in India. Hephaestion had turned to someone else for comfort: as he should; as he had every right.

Alexander took a step towards him, took Hephaestion's face in his hands and kissed his lips. "I am truly sorry I interrupted you," he said. "Please go back. I don't mind. Honestly. Please return to your lady."

"I can't," Hephaestion said, his voice thin, pain soaring like an eagle into the blue sky of his eyes.

"Yes, you can," Alexander said, his voice low and earnest.

Hephaestion looked at him bleakly. "She has another man."

"Oh. Oh, that's … that's terrible," Alexander said, feeling the warm blood of relief flood around his heart. "Does she think you're not good enough for her?"

"I think it's a question of being too good for her." Hephaestion looked relieved to be able to talk. "I'm too high and mighty for a mere maidservant. He's an engineer from Corinth. She can stay with him; go where he goes; think about marriage and children."

"You could marry her," Alexander said hopefully.

Hephaestion looked at him regretfully. They both knew that was not an option. "It's too late," he said.

"How did you meet her?" Alexander prodded gently as Hephaestion became quiet.

"She had slipped over in the mud, and I stopped to help her."

"Of course you did."

Hephaestion's eyes acquired an edge as he looked at Alexander. "She didn't tell me about him until after I had slept with her."

Alexander's eyes widened in disbelief. "That was unkind."

"She thought she was being kind."

"She has cheapened you, herself, and the act too, by engaging in it when her heart was not in it. She is not worthy of you."

"Don't say that. I think she did, does still, care for me somewhat."

"Why do you care so much for her?"

Hephaestion opened his lips to reply, then hesitated. He hadn't been aware he did care so much. "She made me feel comfortable," he said lamely. "It was the little things: like warming my slippers before the fire when it was raining outside, putting lavender under my pillow to help me sleep, sewing little cloths for me to wipe my pens on when they became clogged with ink. Women don't do that unless they care. Perhaps I needed mothering."

"Perhaps our wives are our mothers."

Hephaestion was silent. Regretfully, he touched his fingertips to Alexander's lips. "I must go," he said, raising his eyes, crystalline with that honourable determination that Alexander so envied, that lofty clarity and certainty of thought that Hephaestion often attained and he did not, that would carry him through fire and brimstone where others faltered. For that Alexander loved him.

"Enough people must have seen you racing from my room, and me running after you, to set tongues wagging. We don't want to give them more food for gossip," Hephaestion said with a quirky half-smile.

"No," Alexander breathed, on fire with love for this man. His love was so great, he knew he could let him walk away and it would be as though they were still in the same room, as though their hearts would still beat as one, their fingers still touch across the distant rooms.

Hephaestion smiled. He kissed Alexander. "Goodnight," he said softly.

"Goodnight, my love."

VI

For the next few days there were horse races and athletic competitions before they began packing up to move on. In the evenings there were music, poetry, singing and dancing competitions.

Bagoas was among the dancers on the final night. He was determined to recapture Alexander's attention after months apart. Of course Alexander had greeted him with warm affection when Craterus's army had reached the city. He never forgot anyone, let alone a lover, and Bagoas had felt he was genuinely pleased to see him. He had kept his arm around Bagoas's shoulders for several moments while still talking to Craterus and his generals. Bagoas had been walking on air with ecstasy and Alexander had kept him around for much of the rest of the day, but he had not taken Bagoas to his bed.

Bagoas emerged onto the torchlit stage into the still warm evening air. There was just a hint of coolness in the air which raised a shiver on his bare skin as he walked to the centre of the stage. His limbs and torso glistened with oil which held tiny flakes of gold glittering in the torchlight. Golden snake bracelets curled up his forearms and an Egyptian snake emblem rose from his forehead about which was bound a ribbon of gold.

Dark kohl was heavy about his gentle, gazelle eyes giving them an air of mystery as, barefoot and clad only in a gold-decorated, tongued kilt made in imitation of a fighting man's kilt of bronze and leather, he took up his pose as the pipes began.

The dance was in honour of the sun god Amun-Ra and symbolised the hypnotism of the snake by the eye of the sun in the heat of the desert. Bagoas wove a spell with sinuous, gracefully controlled movements, his arms now soaring in imitation of a bird's flight, now gliding snake-like across the air. His body was as boneless as a snake's as he bent his back, his legs long and limber as he leapt through the air like an earth-bound creature trying to flee the hot desert earth.

Ptolemy, seated next to Alexander, his eyes not leaving Bagoas' lithe, wispy form, inclined his head towards Alexander and said in a low, envious voice, "I'll bet he's good in bed, Alexander."

Alexander, his eyes riveted to Bagoas' movements, seeing only the fire and passion of his dance, said in a clear voice "Oh, I've given up sex."

Heads turned in Alexander's direction, including Hephaestion's, seated on his other side.

"What?" Ptolemy said incredulously.

Alexander turned eyes wide with candour to Ptolemy. Yet there was an unearthly quality to his gaze that stripped Ptolemy of humour. "Sex reminds me that I do not have wings to soar with the gods but must plummet back to earth. Sex, and sleep, remind me that I am mortal." With a small smile, his eyes glinting, Alexander said, "I cannot do without them." And he turned back to watch Bagoas dance with undivided attention.

An answer obviously not being required of him, Ptolemy could only nod knowingly. He caught a glimpse of Hephaestion's expression, pride and pain showing in his eyes as he looked at Alexander before a curtain was drawn over his innermost thoughts and he turned back to watch the music of Bagoas's body.

Ptolemy watched the profiles of the two handsome men, mirroring each other, both remote and inaccessible; Alexander entranced by the mystery of the ethereal dance, Hephaestion contemplating the boy's beauty and vivacity from an untouchable pinnacle.

Bagoas's dance ended and Alexander erupted into rapturous applause, rising to his feet to celebrate the youth's artistry. He was obviously not the only one who thought Bagoas the easy winner of the competition, for thunderous applause from the massed ranks of the seated and standing audience greeted the young eunuch as he rose from his final pose, blinking shyly as he dropped into a low, gracious bow. Hephaestion too had risen the instant Alexander had moved, his hands raised high in applause.

Bagoas was the last of the dancers and it was obvious that he was the winner as Chares the chamberlain sent towards Alexander two servants bearing the winner's wreath and the purse containing the prize money.

As the applause died down, Alexander said, "I declare Bagoas the winner!" Further applause greeted the victory as Bagoas took the steps down from the stage and made his way to Alexander's dais.

He stepped up onto the platform and smiled with sweet pride at Alexander. All he had wanted was to be worthy of Alexander's attention and he had done it, he had proved himself to be the best at what he could do, which was surely worthy of Alexander's admiration.

And Alexander smiled back at him, his eyes shinning with love and pride, his generous heart swelling with gratitude at the gift of devotion Bagoas was offering. He placed the prize money in Bagoas's hands – enough to make him wealthy for several years – and then placed the luxuriant victor's wreath of pink and white flowers intertwined with greenery and trailing long ribbons of pink, white and green onto Bagoas' bowed head. He hid the false snake among the foliage then set his hands under the ribbons to spread them carefully over Bagoas's dark tangled hair and slender shoulders.

He smiled anew as Bagoas raised his vibrant eyes to his and the audience applauded the victor.

"Kiss him," Hephaestion said quietly from where he was still standing by his chair. He could not see Alexander's face, but he could see the reflection mirrored in Bagoas's face. He knew Alexander's generous, open nature would respond like a child's to the love radiating from the beautiful boy's face. He would drink like dewy nectar from the worship blossoming in the young face, and Hephaestion knew he would never forgive himself if he did not give the boy a gift he would treasure to his grave. "Kiss him," he said.

Hephaestion did not know if Alexander heard him, but someone did. "Kiss him!" a voice called, and Alexander's head came up in startlement.

"Kiss him!" the cry was repeated, again and again across the audience until it was taken up by the massed ranks receding into the moonlit darkness.

With a grin, Alexander took Bagoas's soft young face between his hands and kissed his round lips soundly, his army cheering as they got what they wanted: to see Alexander gratified.

A dazzled Bagoas was rosy-cheeked with pleasure as Alexander caught his hand, turned him and bowed expansively to his audience. Bagoas gracefully followed his example as, with a laugh, Alexander led him back to his seat. Observant Chares had a chair brought quickly and placed between Alexander and Ptolemy even as Alexander arrived at his chair.

Alexander graciously seated the victor first as Bagoas gazed up at him reluctantly, yet so proudly. Alexander smiled at him reassuringly and asked Chares to have Bagoas's robe fetched before he should cool and his limbs cramp.

Alexander released Bagoas's hand and moved to take his seat. He stole a glance at Hephaestion before he turned to face his audience, and his heart steadied as Hephaestion calmly met his gaze, his face impassive with a beauty and strength Bagoas could never match. Whatever his heart felt, his mind approved Alexander's display, and Alexander drew a deep breath of relief as took his seat. He covered Bagoas's soft hand with his own warm one as it rested on the chair arm for the satisfaction of the watchers, and called for the singers to be brought on.

Thereafter Alexander assiduously sought Hephaestion's opinion on the singers' merits, anxious to show the world that they were perfectly at peace, even though Bagoas' fingers still rested in his hand. Hephaestion responded with smiles and laughter, even if they did not quite disguise the bruise in his eyes, as aware as he of watchers in the crowd.

When all the performances were done, all the prizes awarded, and the night air was growing cool under the full moon that flooded the sky, it was time to retire. Alexander rose, Bagoas' hand still clasped in his. He did not look at the eunuch, but his firm grasp made it evident to all observers that he had appropriated the boy for the night.

He bade good night to each of his friends, and to Hephaestion.

His heart lurched and almost faltered as he glimpsed the dignified hurt hiding in Hephaestion's clear blue eyes behind his warm smile of encouragement.

"Good night, Alexander," Hephaestion said, his voice steady and sure. His eyes warmed as he saw the trouble growing in Alexander's eyes. Ignoring protocol, he took Alexander by the shoulders and kissed one cheek and then the other. "Thank you for a wonderful evening's entertainment." With a warm smile he turned to Bagoas. "Thank you, Bagoas, for a brilliant display. It was truly worthy of your King."

Bagoas smiled shyly and Hephaestion withdrew as others came forward to bid Alexander goodnight as Alexander moved to leave the dais, Bagoas quietly but closely by his side, his large dark brown eyes shining with happiness and pride.

VII

Later that night, Hephaestion was sitting on his balcony, one foot propped up on the balustrade, holding an empty wine goblet on his thigh as he watched the majestic moon sail across the sky. He was cold, but he couldn't summon the will to move and go to bed. He had sent all the servants to their own beds except for the boy who tended the lamps, but he hadn't the will to call him to fill his goblet either.

He stared at the moon, his mind quite blank. It never failed to surprise him how rapidly the moon rode across the night sky. You could almost see Phoebus' chariot move.

It was a huge full moon, luminous and seeming to fill the sky. A festival moon, Alexander called it. 'Festy-moon,' he had said, tracing circles on Hephaestion's chest as they lay as youths in the silver moonlit woods, listening to the distant Bacchic revels.

Hephaestion smothered the pang of regret with a spurt of anger. Why did Alexander have to figure in every one of his thoughts? They were grown men. Could they not live apart and still love each other?

Yet it was hard. Alexander was everything to him: lover, brother, friend, captain and King. Without him, Hephaestion was a lonely man.

That was the problem with putting all your eggs in one basket. Drop the basket and there was nothing left. That was why he could never, ever break with Alexander as a friend or a lover. Because those two were so intertwined with all facets of their relationship that if he were to lose faith in Alexander as a friend, as a lover, then he would lose faith in him as his captain, his King. And that was inconceivable, because without Alexander in his world there would be nothing left. And Alexander as his enemy did not bear thinking about, it would be terrifying and there would be nowhere in the world to hide.

Yet separating the love of the body from the love of the soul would be hard. It was a point he felt they had to have reached. The fact that the army saw Alexander as his boy, or him as Alexander's boy, whichever way the comment had been meant, was the tipping point. Eventually it would get hold of Alexander as a point of disrespect, a canker that would sour their relationship. Unless they changed people's perception of their relationship to one based purely on the love of friends.

An urgent knocking on the outer door interrupted his thoughts, and he craned his head round to see who it was as the boy rushed to open the door.

"Hephaestion, come quickly!" one of the Pages said breathlessly as he tumbled through the barely open door. "The King has been taken ill and wants you at once!"

Hephaestion scrambled for the door, chair and goblet clattering to the floor.

At a run, he arrived at Alexander's rooms, the Pages and servants milling about parting before him, letting him through to Alexander's bedroom. Alexander lay on his back in his bed, naked except for the coverlet pulled up to his chest. His face was contorted with pain, one fist clenched on his chest as Hephaestion pushed past Chares to get to his bedside.

"Is it poison?" he demanded, gripping Alexander's arm as he looked up at the physician Glaucas, standing hesitantly on the other side of the bed, a tearful-looking Bagoas behind him.

"I do not believe so," the physician said desperately. "There is no vomiting, no diarrhoea, no sweating, no stomach cramps."

"Alexander, what is it? Where does it hurt?" Hephaestion demanded, unconsciously gripping Alexander's arm tighter. Alexander's eyes were screwed up with pain and he had not even opened them at Hephaestion's arrival, although his head had turned towards his voice.

"My chest. It burns," Alexander unclenched his teeth long enough to mutter.

"His heart, it's his heart!" Hephaestion said frantically. The doctor seemed to be useless.

"I do not believe so," Glaucas replied, even more desperately than before. "His heartbeat is strong and steady. And there is no cramping of the left arm that usually accompanies heart failure."

Hephaestion dismissed the doctor's presence. "Alexander," he said, trying to steady and calm his voice. He turned himself to get a better view of Alexander's face. "Show me exactly where it hurts."

"Here," Alexander muttered, clenching his hand between his breasts.

"Are you fevered?" Hephaestion laid his hand on Alexander's brow, against his cheek. There was not a trace of fever. He drew back a little, perplexed. "Perhaps it is a muscle spasm," he said. "Would you like some willow or camomile tea?" Alexander nodded.

He turned, and realised the room had filled with a lot of anxious faces, soldiers and Pages. "Chares, the King needs to rest. Get these people out of here." Chares, a whippet-thin bundle of nervous energy, hastened officiously towards the crowd. "Glaucas, would a warm compress help to relieve the pain?"

"Possibly," Glaucus said. He moved nearer, clutching his hands together anxiously. Bagoas ventured nearer, looking up woefully at the physician as though he were about to hear Alexander's death sentence. "If I might suggest," Glaucas said, dropping his voice. "It may just be a case of indigestion."

Alexander stilled beneath Hephaestion's touch and cracked open an eyelid to glare balefully at the doctor. "Go away."

The doctor drew in a breath to protest. "Go away," Alexander repeated. "If you're not going to help me, go away. Hephaestion and Bagoas will look after me. They at least care whether I live or die."

"Perhaps some warm milk and peppermint might help," Glaucas ventured.

"Get me some then," Alexander muttered petulantly.

The doctor moved away with a bow and Hephaestion leant over Alexander to get a better view of his face. Bagoas stood by the other side of the bed, washed clean of any makeup or artifice, dressed in a simple robe, a beautiful picture of youthful distress for Alexander.

Hephaestion looked down at Alexander. "You sodding faker," he said quietly.

Alexander opened eyes clear of any pain, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You know what would really help my heartburn?" he said, locking eyes with Hephaestion. "Finding a way to get what I want." His smile broadened as his eyes moved to Bagoas wickedly and back again to Hephaestion. Hephaestion glanced at Bagoas, whose eyes were wide with wonder and innocence. Hephaestion looked down at Alexander, expecting a thunderbolt.

"Does anyone fancy a threesome?" Alexander whispered.

In between defeat and relief, Hephaestion sat down heavily on the bed, and Bagoas hovered, a smile of excitement beginning to lighten his bright young eyes.


End file.
